


the way into the woeful city

by clumsygyrl (thegirlthatisclumsy)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dark, Demons, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-07
Updated: 2010-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-10 18:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlthatisclumsy/pseuds/clumsygyrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob sells his soul in installments. The payment plan extracts more than a pound of flesh, but Bob's willing to pay the price to keep his people safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the way into the woeful city

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://unnat-bandom.livejournal.com/profile)[**unnat_bandom**](http://unnat-bandom.livejournal.com/). Title and excerpt from Dante's Inferno, and many references to the Nine Circles of Hell. Thanks to [](http://frausorge.livejournal.com/profile)[**frausorge**](http://frausorge.livejournal.com/), [](http://hammerhead22.livejournal.com/profile)[**hammerhead22**](http://hammerhead22.livejournal.com/), & the bff for betaing. all other mistakes and extra commas are mine. thanks also to everyone else who took a first look at this in its infancy ([](http://lovelypoet.livejournal.com/profile)[ **lovelypoet**](http://lovelypoet.livejournal.com/) & [](http://eleanor-lavish.livejournal.com/profile)[**eleanor_lavish**](http://eleanor-lavish.livejournal.com/)).

_Per me si va ne la città dolente,  
per me si va ne l'etterno dolore,  
per me si va tra la perduta gente._

It started just as any bad idea begins - with a woman.

To be more specific, Bob's spiral began with trying to help a woman.

Winters in Florida were different than winters in Chicago. Bob noted that at the beginning of December that while he hated the grit of sand in his teeth from windy days, it wasn't as bad as freezing his balls off trying to get the mail from the end of the drive.

Work was work and it paid Bob's bills. He liked the precision of doing it and the skill it required. He learned most of what he knew from watching and doing rather than reading and testing. The knobs and buttons felt familiar under the pads of his fingers almost as much as the satin of worn sticks against his palms and the reverberations of an easy 4/4 beat. There was a simple pleasure in making shitty bands sound less shitty and even passable.

His friend Ivan, with the ugly Scooby Doo tattoo on his neck, once told him that sound was like math. (Bob was pretty sure that if he believed in past lives and shit that Ivan was sure to be some old stodgy math professor from Oxford. What he was in a previous life, well, that was anyone's guess. Bob would say something along the lines of big solid tree or boulder. He figured he'd accidentally rolled or fell on someone as one and it was why he was stuck in shitty bars getting drinks spilled on him in this life. That was if he believed in reincarnation. He was waiting for the next spin of the wheel to make a decision.)

"It's pure. Fucking pure, you know?" Ivan blew out a thin stream of blue gray smoke, the ends curling up from his nose in an odd slant more defined than the scraggle on his upper lip. "The key to the universe is in math. You can break down the human experience into numbers and counts and beats. Heartbeats, brain waves, cycles of breath." He laughed low and gravelly, the smoke's many years heard in it. "You come into the world with sound and numbers. Push once, twice, three times. Breath, scream, shout, curse. And out pops a slimy red faced you screaming out and breathing in and out on beat." The air was heavy with meaning for Ivan and smelled of weed for Bob.

Bob nodded at Ivan's speech. There really wasn't much Bob could do or would do to argue the point or agree with it. Sound was his friend. In a way, Ivan's reasoning made sense. Sound and math didn't let a person down. Words, however, had never been and probably would never be Bob's friend or closely regarded acquaintance. He didn't like to use them and they managed to never be the correct ones when he needed them to be. He almost smiled at that. Sound that didn't originate from him was easy. What wasn't his friend was anything that formed from Bob in the way of speech.

"Hey, I've got someone you should meet," Ivan's bushy eyebrows waggled, wreathed in smoke and Bob was just buzzed enough to be curious.

"Yeah?" Bob set his bottle down. He'd gone over to see Ivan at his friend of a friend of a girlfriend's party mainly because another Saturday alone in his studio to either jerk off or play another round of Tekken was too lame to consider.

"She said she'd seen you at Malone's for that scream metal thing you worked last month. Apparently she likes blondes," Ivan smirked and inclined his head to the tiny petite thing sitting and holding court near the graveyard of empties on the kitchen counter. "Her name's Apathy or something like that."

Bob snorted and he ambled over. It wasn't that he wasn't interested or overtly opposed, mainly he was bored. At least this change could lead to something that wasn't so gray. She didn't look too much like a Goth chick, with the name he was expecting more spikes and black lipstick not something that looked like a girl off the pages of J. Crew. He dropped his bottle into the garbage can and gave the girl a wave. She was short and pale, hair dark as coal and eyes ice blue. Her features were striking with high cheekbones and a slight slant to her eyes. If the hair had been blond, Bob would have thought she kind of looked like him. Except she was pretty smoking sitting there in a barely there skirt and tanktop.

"You're Bob," she said sliding off the high kitchen stool without a wobble.

Bob was impressed. The sky high platforms and the tight skirt didn't hinder her a bit. The audience of boys (all shifty ass shady motherfuckers Bob knew from acquaintances of acquaintances) parted for her like she was a queen and they were her royal subjects. "Yeah. Ivan said you wanted to talk to me."

She smiled and while she was hot, the smile made Bob shiver a little. The look was cold. Her audience didn't seem to notice because they all made a collective horny moan. "I have a proposition for you that could help someone you know."

Bob frowned and stepped in, the pull was there, the low thrumming tug in his stomach. It wasn't just arousal but something else. He tamped it down and tried to focus on the words. "This sounds like the beginning of a bad porn," he grimaced. She laughed at him.

"I like you. I thought I would. Come on," she said walking out through the open screen door. Bob could see the outline of houses in the background, windows lit with people there.

She's got herself perched on the wooden railing, foot tapping an odd rhythm on the damp wood. The humidity made Bob's shirt stick to his skin as soon as he stepped out onto the back porch. There's the faint buzz of mosquitoes that Bob has learned to tune out a few weeks into living there. "I know your name. But perhaps you do not know mine."

Bob noted for the first time that this chick spoke with a strange lilt to her voice. "Ivan said your name was Apathy. Didn't take you for having hippy parents."

She laughed but the sound echoed weirdly. They were alone on the back porch, not even a sign of a smoker wandering back to the small space. "Oh no, I am far from apathetic. In name or nature." She smoothed her hands down her skirt.

Bob noted her nails were painted a scarlet, blood red if he was feeling descriptive. "So, what is your name?"

"Apate," she looked out into the dark and then swung her gaze back to him. Her name was discordant. It made Bob wince for some reason. "Apate Koriaponyx. Not that you will remember it." She made it a joke and laughed. This sound was pleasant and had Bob taking a half step toward her.

"Ah-pah-tay Karey-," Bob just shook his head. Words were not his friends. Neither it seemed were names.

"It is Greek," Apate said and tapped her finger against his lips. "But that is no bother. You may call me Appy. Like happy but without the h."

Bob wondered briefly how she'd gotten so close to him and he realized it was him who had moved so closely and so quickly. "Appy then. What did you mean about a proposition?"

Appy fluttered her lashes at him and leaned in to puff a warm breath against his mouth. "Do not tell me American boys do not understand a come on when one is given?"

Bob laughed at that. "Guess I'm a little denser than some."

Appy gave him a long hard look and something shadowed her eyes for a moment. How they changed from ice blue to dark made Bob blink. A trick of the light, he thought. There wasn't much of that back there, but Bob's brain just shut that voice down. "I do not believe you are," Appy said with a note of wariness then she smiled at him again. "My proposition is simple. I am here to fulfill a dream for someone."

"Me?" Bob asked wanting to laugh a little. The girl was hot, no doubt, but she was a little full of herself.

Appy slapped lightly at his shoulder in what Bob thought must be a flirting thing. "Oh, silly boy. Silly silly boy," she leaned in and whispered. "I am going to save your mother."

Bob drew back and there was the ice in those eyes again.

Funnily enough it was in his veins as well.

*-*

The first time was scarily easy.

Bob had stood there on that back porch just looking at Appy and shook his head. "She isn't in trouble."

She had patted his cheek, fingers cool and smooth against his skin. "Not yet, my boy. Not yet."

Bob narrowed his eyes and his fingers circled the thin delicate looking wrist. "What are you talking about?" He blinked a little in confusion when his hand closed around nothing.

There was a faint sound of laughter and then nothing but night dark around him.

*-*

Bob didn't go straight from Chicago down to Florida after he finished out high school.

His trip down there was circuitous and uneventful. It was interesting in the way that his path seemed to have no pattern. He snaked south then a little west then back north then east then back down south again. The trip took weeks rather than just days. He saw more tent revivals and dusty carnivals and roadside prophets than he saw actual towns for hours and days at times .

There were Bible thumping preachers in towns where Bob stopped for food or gas or rest or all three. They talked about damnation and the End of Days. There were women clutching at their breasts and beating against their chests with fists rough from years working in factories or fields or kitchens. The sermons rang across fields where Bob stopped when the lure of fresh fruit or produce pulled him out of the lull of caffeine and fried drive thru convenience food. The back roads took him to cloistered colonies of people who promised fresh honey but tried to serve him a way of life with the True Path. Snake charmers and snake eaters and snakes in grasses hiding from the general populace promising wine and redemption.

Bob stepped away from them all and continued on the long stretch of black asphalt heading toward a blue green that he'd promised himself.

*-*

Bob had a pretty shitty relationship with his parents. It wasn't like they hated each other or anything, but it was that they all loved each other a lot but none of them really knew how to say anything right. Not being able to talk about things was apparently inherited. Bob loved his mom, but he didn't know how to really tell her. His mom was better with the talking than him or his dad. His relationship with his dad was talking about sports scores and jazz musicians.

But he was his dad's son and it was always hard to talk about real feelings. His mom used to joke that if she didn't tell her Roger how to feel then it'd never get said.

It started almost immediately. His mother got sick fast. An antibiotic resistant infection that was spreading so quickly there was barely a pause between diagnosis to admittance into the hospital. Bob had gotten the call and he knew. He knew somewhere in the midst of all the freaky ass stuff that had happened at that party that it was his choice to fix. The flight back to Chicago had gone by in a blur with the party night replaying itself over in his head. He tried to shake it off and discard it, but there was something that stuck with him. The subtle lingering memory of her fingers against his cheek, cold and firm and scarily real.

He sat at his mom's side, holding her hand while machines beeped and the day gave way to night with shadows creeping into the corners of the room. "You're going to be okay."

His mother squeezed his fingers. "Baby, sometimes it's your time. Sometimes you have to let go."

His dad stood across the room, his wide shoulders bracketed by the frame of the window. Bob realized that they were shaking slightly, trembling with soft crying. Bob had never seen his father cry.

"I've made my peace, baby. I love you both." Her voice was so soft and Bob just squeezed harder at her fingers as if to hold his mom there.

A quiet derisive snort came from behind Bob. He knew immediately who it was. The same sinking feeling set in just like it had the flight over, when he was plagued with dreams and thoughts of what his meeting with Apate meant. The room around him faded overlaid with a ghost image of himself sitting at his mother's bedside with his father by the window sill. "What the fuck are you?"

Appy tsked softly and she sat on the edge of the hospital foot rail of his mother's bed. "Smart boy. Not who, but what. They never do give your kind the right kind of credit to being able to think."

Bob felt a cold sweat break out down his back. "Answer my question." He should have been laughing at the tiny girl. He should, but he couldn't seem to relay that to his chest where fear was sitting cold and hard in his stomach. "I'm fucking losing it."

"What? No 'please'?" Appy sighed and she hopped down off the bed. She pushed her hand into the thick fall of hair. The heavy length sparkled blue black in the not hospital light. "I don't suppose you'd believe I'm your guardian angel? No, not as bombastic as those bastards. Well, that's how they all are. Oh, fine. I'm a demon. Well, I suppose that's as close to what you people would call what I am. Such an ugly word. I'm a helpmate to the Underworld. No, that sounds too marriage-y. Minion is so diminutive. Demon will have to suffice."

"I don't believe in God," Bob said in confusion.

"Well, then I suppose that means I don't exist and the help I'm extending doesn't either. Pity. Your mother really was a lovely woman. We'll enjoy her in the fields," her tongue glided smoothly over teeth Bob swore were now pointed.

"You can't have her."

Appy patted the sheets next to her. "Of course I can, silly mortal. But I'm offering you a bargain. I save your mother for a small paltry payment."

Bob looked down at the wavering image of his mother, death pale and struggling for breath. He could see himself being pushed back as nurses rushed in. His father was struggling to get to the bed, held back by two other nurses. "You can't save her."

"You really are stupid," Appy snapped her fingers and all the people in the room froze. "I can do precisely what I say I can do. Think of it as an introductory offer. I save her and I exact payment for the service I have provided." The image pulled back and he felt as if he were looking at the scene through a life sized pane of glass. He could see himself there, fear and sadness and grief on his face. Bob could swear he could feel all the same on his own face, the pain of losing his mother was excruciating.

The silence was only broken by Bob's breathing, heavy and harsh.

"What do you want?"

She giggled and clapped her hands, and the joy created a snap of flames in her eyes. "Only a bit of time from you."

"What does that mean exactly?" Bob looked down at the frozen picture of his mother trying to breathe.

She took his hand in hers and Bob felt the ice skimming against his skin. "I simply want one day of your life as payment."

Bob's fingers tried to curl away from hers, but her grip was unnaturally strong. "Just a day."

"Just a day," she said sweetly.

"Okay."

She smiled at him, sharp teeth pronounced and shining. Her eyes shone flatly, a metallic oily black that swallowed the entirety of the ice blue leaving only the barest hint of white around it. "So shall it be." She snapped her fingers and the scene changed with his mother's doctor coming in with papers. Bob felt and knew what he was saying as if he were in both places at once.

"There was an anomaly in the tests. They've figured out what is wrong. She'll be fine once they give her the right combinations of drugs," she said tugging at his sleeve. "Now to finish our bargain." She touched the sharp edge of her nail against his wrist and a pearl of blood appeared. She took it and held it up to him. "You're mine, my dear." The wound sealed immediately leaving only a faint line, pale and whiter than his own skin. It looked like a long ago healed scar.

"Just for a day," Bob said feeling a rush of dizziness, black dots swimming in front of his eyes.

"Of course," she pressed the pearl of blood against a thin cord of black metal and magically it hung suspended there as if it were a real gem. "A day with me in Hell."

Bob opened his mouth to ask another question, but when he blinked he was there shaking the doctor's hand and his father was by the bed with his cheeks wet and grabbing his mother's other hand.

*-*

He was told that as soon as the doctor gave his miraculous news his father watched him collapse. Shock, they said, and emotional upheaval. Bob had no explanation for it and he wanted to pass the memory of the meeting and bargain with Her to the back of his mind.

"You didn't see anyone with me in the room, did you Dad?"

His father looked up from his cup of hospital coffee and frowned. "No, son. Was there someone you wanted me to meet?"

Bob shook his head. Just stress or worry or jetlag, he thought to himself.

He wanted to believe that, but he knew that he was lying to himself.

He knew there was still payment he had to meet. He just didn't know when the collection would come to pass.

*-*

The two weeks he spent with his family were easy. There was a rush of getting his mother healthy again and getting to know his parents. The almost death seemed to prod the three of them to settle in with each other and actually talk to one another. Bob was both uncomfortable and comforted by the new arrangement. He was relieved to have his mom better and the talks with his dad still centered around sports and jazz, but Bob felt like something had shifted in even those conversations.

It wasn't surprising to find himself alone on a Friday night, two days after getting back from his childhood home. His apartment felt alien to him. It was cool and darkened by late afternoon shadows.

The temperature in the room changed, cooling and frosting the edges of the panes of glass at the window. Bob had the scant moment of amusement that it would be cold instead of hot then she was sitting on him. Her knees bracketing his hips, the same short skirt hiking up around her waist. "Time to go."

Bob nodded feeling the cold creep into his chest as soon as her palm touched between his collarbone.

As he closed his eyes, the room disappeared as did he.

*-*

Bob opened his eyes to the darkness. There was a heavy solid silence. There was a presence near him and he tried to lift his arms, but they were pinned out from his body, spread out at shoulder height. His body must have been in the position for a long time as his muscles burned, the sweat cooling on his skin even at the low temperature of the room he was in. He assumed it was a room, but he couldn't tell. The darkness was that complete.

He opened his mouth to call out for help, but even as the words left his mouth no sound came. The silence was undisturbed.

Then the first lick of pain sliced against his back. He wanted to scream, and he thought he did, but no sound came out again. The strokes continued and Bob lost the count. He could feel and smell his blood running, dripping down his back. Each stroke ignited more pain, as if a thousand hungry mouths were at the tip of each whipmark. The hooking teeth ripping open flesh and muscle and Bob's nerves didn't know what to make of it. He screamed again and again, his throat being scraped raw by the cries that never sounded. He gave into the urge to vomit from the pain. The smell just made him want to vomit again. The layers of smell and touch cycling into a song of abuse and Bob begged hoarsely for it to stop, tears and blood mixing in the puddle at his feet.

"Open your eyes, Bob. Look at what's in front of you." The voice was silky and sibilant, whispered right into his brain. He hadn't known when he shut his eyes, but it must have been after the third or thirty third strike.

It was still dark, but it was as if he were looking at a glass wall into a large hall way. There pressed against the wall were his friends and families watching his humiliation. There was a mix of shock and horror and sadness and anger. Bob wanted to turn his face away, but something kept his face forward.

There was a laugh he heard directly into his mind before the whipping began again. They continued in force and number with no pauses inbetween. The digging seemed to go deeper, ripping further into his body. He knew his own voice wouldn't be heard, but he became aware of what he could hear. The dripping was first, the blood and sweat coming off his body, and the hissing kiss of whatever was striking him. He almost vomited again when he heard the wet slap of something on the floor below him. It made him think of meat being dropped onto a plate and he realized it was parts of his back falling to the floor.

"They can't be released. Won't be till your day is done."

Bob watched as the looks of horror crossed his parents faced when they realized what was happening. He watched his friends and cousins cry and several of them turn green.

He wished he could pass out and there was a faint ringing of a bell. A single tone echoing madly in his head.

"Your first hour is done. Only twenty three to go, lucky boy."

Bob shut his eyes and cried as his head hung down.

*-*

Bob bolted up in bed and watched the sun creep up along the horizon as the sob tore its way out of his chest. The nightmare clung to his senses and then he remembered it wasn't that. He tried to slide off his bed, but his legs and arms were tangled in the blankets, holding him in the same position as he had been in before. He struggled, yelling and cursing and spitting out curses and begging to get out. He fell to the floor gasping and crying. His entire body ached and he looked back up at the lump of sheets, some of them torn in his fight against them. They were coated in his blood and vomit and he curled up into a ball shaking, trying to stuff the sobs back behind his teeth.

The next time he opened his eyes the sun was higher in the sky and he was aware of several things. He was still in pain, but it was significantly less than it had been. He was thirsty. His bed was pristine. The sheets were still torn, but the signs of blood and other things were gone. The sun felt good on his face as he uncurled from the floor. He tried to get up, but his muscles spasmed and he resorted to crawling to his bathroom and into the shower. He sat under the hot water till he felt as if he had rinsed his mouth out enough and he could stand without falling.

He closed his eyes for a moment and recalled the last thing she said to him.

"Our bargain's done, darling boy. But I'll bet I see you again. Don't worry about your audience. They'll only remember everything as a nightmare. Well, they might not even remember when they wake. Seems a pity that they're not able to witness for you. Mother always said that balance in payment was a grand thing."

Bob shivered at her giggle and then there was the suddenly thick silence again.

*-*

Bob had a tough few weeks after it happened. He woke up from dreams gasping and yelling about it. The first few days after that first morning his back ached like fire.

As the days bled together, the memory of his day of payment started to fade into the back of his mind. If he was going to be honest, he forced as much of it out and down into a back of his brain. The threat of screaming or sobbing at night ended any real inclination for him to try and start any relationship.

Not that it had been much of a sacrifice. His dick was pretty well acquainted to his right hand. More so acquainted to that than another person.

It didn't help the loneliness, but he figured it stopped anyone else moving into a place where he had to explain anything to another person.

He didn't know if that was sad or not.

*-*

The gig with Brian's tour was both a surprise and a confusing event. He got the lead from a guy who knew a guy who heard and saw Bob work from the same scream metal fest that he'd done months ago. The first time he met Brian he was down on his knees.

"Can I help with any of that shit?"

"Not if you call it shit," Bob said before looking up black electrical tape in one hand and pencil in his mouth. He took in the dirty motorcyle boots and cuffed jeans before looking up higher past the belt and black shirt to the smirk. "Huh."

"Schechter," the guy said holding out a hand that didn't have a clipboard in it.

"Bryar," Bob shaking on it.

"They told me to look for Bob. Guess that's you."

"Got it in one," Bob said taping together another set of wires. "They told me that Brian was going to come get me with some paperwork."

There was a sound of a metal snap and a sheaf of papers crossed his peripheral. "Got it in one."

Bob noted the same smirk and took the papers glancing at them before rolling them into a tube and stuffing them into his back pocket. "Got some work to do."

"It's what I'm paying you for," Brian said but the smile softened it somehow.

Bob nodded and he pretended not to notice Brian giving him a once over.

*-*

The first meeting was a pretty good indication of how they'd work together. It was easy and comfortable from the get go and Brian didn't pressure him to talk or give more than what was within reason or viable with the consumption of a six pack of cheap piss beer. Bob bunked down more often than not with Brian, scrounging for sleeping bag space next to him and extra gear. Bob figured that if anyone questioned him about the random nightmare it was easy enough to mask behind the sounds of tour and partying. It was nice knowing that while the scenery changed the routine of tour was pleasantly boring. His part in it didn't cause waves and he relaxed into his friendship with the crew and Brian.

Bob was angry with himself because he forgot how quickly things could change.

*-*

One second Brian was laughing and comparing notes with Jerry the other crew chief then he was on the ground. There was no warning screech or yell of surprise. One moment Brian was there and the next Bob saw was Jerry trying to drag metal off a very still body on the platform.

The entire lighting rig had come down on the stage. Something about faulty rusted bolts or a minor tremor that shook the scaffolding. The bottom line, and only line Bob was interested in, was that Brian was bleeding out on the floor and there was no sign of EMS or paramedics. Brian had a gash in his side and Bob was holding someone's dirty ass sweatshirt over the wound. There was a buzzing in his head and Brian was getting paler and paler. Bob still had no idea how he got from the back of the venue up onto the stage and crouched down next to Brian.

"You know I could help with that."

Bob looked up at the ring of people watching. There was a lot of yelling in the background and Bob had a hard time focusing on anything other than Brian who was slipping in and out of consciousness. "What?"

A tall guy, one Bob recognized worked as one of merch kids, hunkered down next to Bob. He smiled and touched Bob's forearm. The Texas sun had set hours ago and the venue had cooled off, but it was still sweltering. It didn't explain why Bob felt like he'd just been touched by ice. "Mark, right?"

"This time," Mark said and Bob swore as he caught sight of the eyes. The ice blue bled to almost all black. "Ah, I see you remember me."

"What the fuck do you want?" Bob said trying to shake Mark's hand off.

It was the silence that made Bob look up from Brian's face. The stillness of his features made Bob think that Brian was gone and it made his stomach hollow out with grief. "Fuck, no."

"Oh, man the fuck up," Mark said sitting down in what had been a growing pool of Brian's blood.

Bob looked around and again it was the ghost image overlay. "You did this."

Mark rolled his eyes and picked a thread off the edge of one of the tears in his jeans. "I did no such thing. I'm simply here to benefit from the confluence of events."

"Where's Mark?" Bob asked.

"Around," Mark said blowing the knot of thread into the air. "So, shall we come to a beneficial arrangement?"

Bob looked down at his hands. The blood was red and wet on his hands. Brian's blood was on his hands. He wanted to laugh. He'd bet somewhere his English teacher from high school just had a little chuckle over this shit. "Can you save him?"

"Hmm, I could do it. Or make it so that he has the best possible chance of surviving."

"That's no gurantee."

"There's no gurantee unless you count death, darling boy." Mark stood up and unrolled a length of paper.

It was, by Bob's estimation, parchment. The edges were worn and the ink was faded in places. The script was spidery and old looking. "It's more formal this time. As we're going to go in a different direction. I want a little more of your time and soul. But with the contract it's a bit different. I'd hate to impede on your life. What with you doing such good work here," he looked around the stage and made a face.

"What do you mean?" Bob watched himself yelling at people and the hoodie in his hands turning from a blue to a black from Brian's blood.

"Well, time in Hell varies to that on Earth. Your one day with me in Hell was really only a few minutes here," Mark said making a notation to the paper with a quill. Bob would have found it funny if he wasn't scared out of his mind. "The universe likes balance, Bob. Ask and ye shall receive, but there is a definite payment involved. Someone dies, someone lives. Tide goes in and the tide goes out or some such nonsense. It says so all in the print." He held the paper up to Bob for inspection.

As soon as he focused, the scrawl it morphed from whatever the scrawl was to Latin to English. It had his name and what was required of him. It allotted the demon payment of a week in the Underworld in exchange for the acquisition of happiness. "It says happiness."

Mark shrugged and blew a piece of fluff off his sleeve. "It's a catchall contract. It leaves a lot of leeway in the fulfillment of the contract. Wouldn't want to be hedged in with fine print."

Bob looked down at Brian's face, still and pale beyond the wavering sheet of where he was and they were. "A week. Okay. Fuck, fine. Where do I sign?"

Mark just shook his head and smiled. He took Bob's hand in his turning it palm up. The edge of his nail raked across his palm and Bob hissed at the pain. Mark dipped his quill into the blood and handed it to Bob. "Just a few drips at the line, darling boy." There was a definite edge of greed when Bob's blood dripped onto the dotted line.

"I'll see you later," Mark said melting back into the crowd.

Mark started shoving at people to back away and let the paramedics through. Bob looked down and Brian coughed up at him smiling. "Thanks, man."

Bob just nodded and let the professionals take over.

Brian came away with a lot of stitches and painkillers and a few nights stay in the hospital. The crew broke him out before he was supposed to and they were back on the road within the week.

Bob smiled and brought him a case of shitty beer to chase down the painkillers. He knew it was the right thing to do and he was trying really hard not to be scared for when the demon came to collect.

*-*

Bob kept waiting for it to show up. The tour ended and he was back in his shitty apartment, but the itch to move and run kept at him. It wasn't the thought of having to pay, but it was the same feeling he had years ago.

It didn't take him much time or effort to pack up his apartment and head back to Chicago.

He figured if he forfeited on the deal then his folks wouldn't have to go very far to bury his body.

*-*

Over time, days and months, Bob put the thought of payment to the back of his mind. He worked consistently on other tours and gigs around town. It wasn't a big surprise running into Brian again around the circuit, but falling back into the same comfortable routine.

"You ever think about death?" Brian asked, tipping back his new beer.

Bob laughed at that and stretched out back on the grass. The buses were parked at a rest stop. Bob could hear members of the various bands calling out to each other trying to organize a night game of soccer. Bert was yelling about fireflies and how they tasted like sunbursts. "Actually yeah."

"What do you think? Is there a heaven and hell?" Brian asked lying back on his elbows.

Bob looked up at Brian's profile. He was highlighted in dirty orange light from the flickering light post near the picnic benches where someone had started piling out the tour's collection of booze. He heard the gang from the My Chemical Romance bus yelling at each other and there was a quick struggle for beer and sodas. Bob saw Brian smile at the chaos and lifted a middle finger at Frank who made kissing noises at him and Bob.

"I definitely know there's a Hell."

Brian leaned over Bob and put a hand on Bob's chest. "And how do you know that?"

Bob felt the warmth of Brian's through his shirt. "Just do."

Brian shook his head and Bob felt the movement through Brian's arm and hand. "Not good enough, Bryar. You've got secrets. Wily ways and shit."

Bob figured it was just the beer, the combination of too long days and short sleepless nights that had him curling a hand around Brian's neck and tugging him down. "Maybe."

The kiss wasn't anything close to perfect. Brian's breath was warm against his face and tasted like cigarettes and like cheap beer, but Bob didn't care. The fact that it was Brian was enough for him to see what else was under those layers. Brian groaned and Bob felt that against his chest. The kissed again and again.

They only broke apart when the drivers started calling for load up.

Bob spent the night sleeping next to Brian smiling and not thinking about anything past Brian pressed against him.

*-*

Bob and Brian ended up hooking up casually all through the rest of the tour. Their last time was at some dingy motel somewhere outside of San Francisco. Bob had to make the condom run and talked to a guy with no pants on but had a flier handed to him about a fetish ball. Bob figured it was a good sign of things to come.

Brian had arranged rooms so that they had a corner room. "You realize they call this the murder room, right?" Bob asked watching Brian try to shove his hand down Bob's pants. "Fuck, fuck, Bri."

Brian dropped down to his knees and mouthed at Bob's cock through his jeans. "Been waiting for this for fucking ever, Bryar. Stop trying to slow me down."

Bob felt himself fall backward onto the bed. The springs groaned just as loud as Bob. There was a brief line of heat against his cock when Brian's teeth grazed against bare skin. Bob couldn't help the jerk of his hips and his fingers tightening on Brian's shoulder. "Definitely going to kill me."

Brian's mouth made a lewd slurp down then up. "Gives truth to the murder room thing then." 

Bob put a hand behind Brian's head, his fingers gripping Brian's hair and pushing his head back down. He would have stopped but Brian's hungry little groan just made him lift up. Bob's head spun feeling the slight scrape of Brian's lips against his cock. They were slightly chapped, but just the right amount of pressure to be perfect. Bob was going to embarrass himself pretty quickly. He already knew how quickly Brian could get him hot and hard.

"Do you even know how long," Brian muttered crawling up onto the bed and onto Bob. 

There was a flurry of hands tugging clothes off and mouths getting in the way of progress. Bob struggled to get Brian under him and laughed when he was rolled over against the squeaking mattress. "Fucking wily ass motherfucker."

Brian just grinned in the dim light and fisted Bob's cock in his hand. The hold was slick with lube and then Bob reared up to catch Brian's mouth in a hard kiss. There was a bright spot of pain when Brian's teeth caught against his lip and the sharp taste of copper tinged the kiss. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can't wait. Been waiting too long," Brian said and Bob felt the slip of latex and then before he could grab for Brian there was a hot tight heat wrapping around his dick. 

Brian held him down with a hand on his chest and sharp biting kisses. Bob tried to force his hips up into Brian's hard rhythm but Brian wasn't having any of it. Bob cursed loudly and let Brian just take. By the time Brian's body was tightening around him, his whole body felt like it was just holding on waiting for Brian to give him permission to let go. Brian leaned down over him and Bob briefly flashed back to their first kiss. Brian breathed out Bob's name against his mouth, sweat slicking between the hard curl of his fingers and Bob's stomach as he stroked himself. Bob took Brian's mouth in a kiss, teeth and tongue sliding against Brian's trying to tell him everything he was feeling, what Brian was getting him to feel.

But words failed him again.

Brian's hand tightened and Bob felt the wet heat of Brian's come against his stomach and chest. "God," Brian grunted and Bob knew he didn't have to hold back any longer. Bob finally wrestled some control back and grabbed Brian's hips and thrust up hard those last few strokes coming a few beats behind Brian.

Bob laid there grinning stupidly up at Brian and Brian just snorted down at him in a self satisfied little laugh. "Smug bastard," Brian said rolling off him after one long hard kiss. "Get up you lazy fuck. You smell like come and a Way. If you're going to get another shot at this before you leave my ass to the cold Midwest, you better smell better than you do now."

Bob waved a hand at him. "Your fault. I may as well just crawl out the door and leave you with some mystery or some shit."

Brian flipped him off and started the shower. He was still talking about random end of tour things when Bob felt the change in the room. 

He sat up, all thought and feelings of lassitude gone. "No."

There was just a chilling little giggle then nothing but darkness.

*-*

Bob opened his eyes but there was nothing but darkness in front of him again. He blinked and there in front of him was the night sky. 

"Oh, enjoy it for now, darling boy."

Then the winds began and Bob felt himself being thrown against battering forces, walls of invisible brick or glass. He felt his skin split on impact and the cracking of his bones.

The wind whipped any cries of pain away. Bob felt his arm bone snap as he was lifted up then hurtled back down against the nothingness. His arm flailed about uselessly and he bit through his own lip in reaction. The wind carried him again this time something snapped his leg. The pain made him want to puke, but he held back. He looked down at nearly whimpered seeing the white bone poking through his skin. The black dots started to crowd his vision, but he didn't want to go back into the darkness. He was scared that the darkness would be worse than what he knew. 

"No need to be proud." 

Bob gritted his teeth refusing to allow it the satisfaction.

The laugh slid through his mind again. "Mayhap I'll only keep you for a few days instead of the whole week."

"Mayhap not."

*-*

When Bob came to he was back in his apartment in Chicago. He had the faint impressions of being on a flight and leaving tour, but nothing concrete. He groaned feeling as if his entire body was in revolt. His muscles spasmed in agony and he laid back down against the bed and his eyes slitted open seeing the sun peeking over the edge of his windowsill. He rubbed at his face. His lip hurt where he'd bitten through it. His tongue touched the edge of where the wound should have been, but all there was was an ache.

He swallowed back another groan knowing some how that he'd left things undone with Brian.

*-*

The call came a few months later. The tour through Europe was done in mostly a haze. Most of the guys were too tired or passed out drunk for most of it to notice when Bob woke up from nightmares or would fall silent. The tension between Brian and him was nearly palpable, but neither of them approached each other. Bob thought it was for the best, but it didn't stop him from missing the feel of Brian against him, in him. 

Bob felt as if he would never get warm again.

The nightmares decreased over time and by the end of the tour, Bob had pushed down the memory of being broken into pieces by wind and pressure. The feeling of unfinished and uneasiness didn't lessen, but Bob forced himself to just hang out with the band instead. It was easier keeping his distance from Brian, but it wasn't that much of a hardship. He enjoyed the guys in the band.

Gerard pressed in against him laughing through his hair and against Bob's shoulder. "You are a noble man, Bob Bryar." The words were muffled and slurred against his arm. Bob had just hauled Matt off and shoved him out the door instead of out the window like he wanted. Frank was still fuming and kicking at the wall. Gerard was still chugging on beer, and leaning against semi still bodies. "A noble virtuous man."

Bob patted Gerard's hand and nursed his own glass of beer. 

There was a flash of something that had him looking at Gerard's face. The look in his eyes was dulled, swallowed up by the pupil. Bob thought that was odd. He swallowed harder watching the black eat further away into the white and the weight against him was no longer warm. "Shit."

Gerard grinned at him and propped his chin in his hand pushing his hair back, gathering it into a queue. The hair was tied back with a piece of string and he face cleared of all drunkeness. "Ah, I have forgotten how delicious it was to be a drunkard. Though the tax on the organs is hard."

Bob dropped his arm away from Gerard. "I paid."

Gerard lit a cigarette and drew on it for one long drag. "You got off on good behavior." His tongue came out to lick at the dry paper of the filter. Bob sat back and tried to focus on what was going on in front of him. He saw himself helping Gerard to his feet, stumbling together toward the bathroom. "I've another proposition for you."

"No."

Gerard sighed heavily and flicked ash into his palm and blew out a cool breath. Bob reared back when he felt the smoke cool against his skin. "Not so much. I'm still owed time."

"But you let me go."

"Ah, well." Gerard waved a hand and glanced over his shoulder at something then back to Bob. "I'm here to renegotiate a bit." He smoothed a hand down the dirty black t-shirt and wrinkled his nose. "An addition of time for another favor."

"No."

"Don't answer so quickly. Don't you want to know what offer is on the table?" Gerard let the smoke curl up toward the blackened ceiling. "It doesn't have anything to do with your Brian fellow."

"He's not mine," Bob said glancing back at the scene in front of him. He watched as he helped Gerard hunker down next to the grotty toilet. 

There was a snort of amusement and a flick of ash again being blown against his face. "So you say. So you say. But it has to do with your friend. He's not long to live if he continues down this path. The feeling of his bodily humors are all off. Why don't you take a look at what could be."

Bob watched another scene unfold overlaying the current one. He saw Gerard stumbling, similar to the way he came to know as Gerard's normal walk, toward another bar for yet another drink. He saw the pills in Gerard's hand, fumbling into his mouth and chased with pale amber liquid. The scene changed and Bob watched the too quick changing of Gerard's face, going more sallow and sickly. He knew that his liver and heart were failing and Bob watched as the life hollowed out of his eyes, dulling till there was nothing but the avarice of addiction in the way the alcohol passed between Gerard's lips again and again. "Stop, just stop."

The scene froze and shifted. 

"I simply want a small extension of our terms," Gerard said and Bob couldn't help but compare the demon's face to that of the sickly one in front of him from the other scene. 

Bob swallowed hard. "I thought you said you couldn't stop what the universe wanted to create balance."

Gerard waved a hand. "I can simply make your friend more aware of the consequences. Open his eyes a bit."

Bob rubbed a hand over his face. "How much time?"

"Two days," Gerard said.

Bob bit his lip and looked from either scene and then nodded. "Fine."

*-*

So it began. Bob began to realize that there was something that kept drawing the demon to him. He swallowed back the taste of bile thinking of the payment for Gerard. The demon had released him early again saying that the enjoyment of seeing Bob drown in a river of alcohol was enough to make her laugh for a good long time.

He was patted on the head and sent back home.

He sat on his couch and trembled for days afterward, feeling the alcohol sweat out of him. He spent so much time in his bathroom he wondered if he had any liquid left in his body.

"Why are you hesitating Bryar?" Brian asked over the phone, voice exasperated. "We're in a fucking tight bind. The band put themselves in this but I've got to figure some shit out. Gerard's just fucking drying out." There was a sound of Brian swallowing.

Bob swore he could smell the yeasty tang of beer over the phone line. He choked back the taste and cleared his throat. "I can't."

"Look if it's. Whatever we were. Don't worry, okay? It's done. I pretty much figured out you were done when you left when you did."

Bob rubbed at his eyes and took a sip of water. "That's not the reason. Just... let me think about it."

"No time. In or out. I'm holding out your fucking dream, Bryar. What's there to think about?"

Bob pressed the bottle against his eye and didn't want to admit that he knew every gift came with a price. He couldn't stop the wanting though. He wanted to play the drums. He wanted to play the drums with this goddamn band. He almost laughed when he admitted at least to himself that he wanted to be a part of them, to belong to this group of guys. "Fine."

"Get your ass over here then."

*-*

The feeling of playing was something he could never quantify. He could never explain how it was to anyone how he felt behind a kit and the rush of pounding away and using his body to make sound. The strain he felt in his arms and back and even the pain in his wrists were something he savored. The aches were his own, ones that he'd made and weren't made by someone else.

The joy of hearing and feeling music was almost enough for him to forget.

Almost.

*-*

The band welcomed him and the payments kept building. Bob knew he was missing something, but he also knew he was caught. He knew if he told the guys would think he was nuts. He had no proof. He had nothing to show for his time in Hell other than the memories and remembered pain from his ordeals. He had to figure it out. There had to be some loophole.

The demon showed up in other forms. Sometimes to poke at him or take a small bit of payment from the days he had on debt or to offer another trade. 

Bob found that a he grew closer to his new friends, the more tangled he became with his sense of responsibility for the people he came in contact with. It all began with him and everyone he came to know got caught up in the demon's attention. Funnily enough, even knowing all this as he got to know them and like them and call them friend he couldn't stop the friendships.

They wouldn't let him.

They took him in and with Gerard's recovery they rallied around him and welcomed Bob into the fold. As much as Bob tried to separate himself, it was useless because they wouldn't stand for it. Bob found himself caring about the assholes. 

Bob rubbed his chest feeling the imprint of the weights that had crushed his chest. Frank had been sick and it hadn't taken much persuading from the demon (this time in the form of one of the techs, Simon who had a slight beer gut and a big booming laugh) to get him to agree. Bob had been sitting with Frank as the coughs had wracked his small little body. It was when the blood came up that Bob knew it was serious.

"Where've you been, man?" Frank asked, still looking wan and pale, but the smile was bright.

"Just around," Bob said cuffing Frank lightly upside the head. "You should be resting."

Frank eyed him briefly. "You look like shit."

Bob shrugged and patted Frank on the arm. "Must be coming down with something."

Frank called out to him, but Bob just focused on his breathing.

In and out in a count that was steady enough to stop the scream behind Bob's teeth.

*-*

The events came and Bob paid.

Ray cutting his head open from a falling crate and Bob spent a day in Hell wracked with horrible diseases every hour. Bob shook in his bunk for the rest of the night till daybreak. His pillow was thrashed as he bit through it to stifle his moans and cries. Frank teased him for days about Bob's kinky sex games.

Gerard looking longingly at the cases of beer and wine at someone's birthday party. Bob found himself paying another day feeling the air being sucked from the room he was being kept in. The faint hiss of a balloon deflating made Bob clench his teeth. Mikey gave him an odd look and just tossed the dead balloon into the garbage. "Not much of a party guy," Patrick said tossing another balloon into the trashbin. "Guess not," Mikey said watching Bob walk away.

The breakdown for Mikey during recording, his slow spiral into depression quickened when the noises in the house started to stalk him. "Pity."

Bob just raised his head. He was so tired. All of them hadn't had any sleep in days and they were all worried about Mikey. 

"It's really rather easy to talk to the spirits of the dead. To get them to torment the already weak."

Bob closed his eyes. "Just... leave him alone okay? Just stop. What do you want now?" He laughed a little. "Or should I say how much do you want this time?"

"Smart mortal," she whispered.

Bob watched Alicia's face morph from Mikey's into hers again. He hated the eyes. He always thought it was the worst part about the demon. The eyes were cold and hungry. "Get him out of here and we can negotiate terms."

"Done." Alicia picked at her cuticles then looked up flicking the nail polish to her feet.

Bob thought about it briefly that the demon never showed up with the same face twice. He figured he should remember that. It was probably important. "I just want another day with you." There was a sing song-y quality to its voice. 

"Okay."

"You know your sleeping arrangements on your tour bus are rather tomb like," she said reaching for him and placed its hand on his chest. "Yes, that will do nicely."

Bob opened his mouth to say something. But it was swallowed up by a scream when he found himself inside a casket.

The flames licking at the edges of the wood and feeling his skin burn made him scream again.

The flamed hurt like ice not hot at all, but still had him in agony.

*-*

The video shoot shook him more than he let on.

When he caught fire, the first thought he had was that the time in Hell hadn't really ended. That the demon was playing with him. The heat of the flame was his first indication that he wasn't there any longer. 

He rubbed his face with his hands and wanted to cry again. 

He couldn't afford to lose it. He couldn't leave them alone with the demon.

At least this time, he had a scar that he could see.

*-*

Months passed and Bob tried to forget. He made himself forget.

The visits from the demon were becoming sporadic. Each one now, however, left him shaking and a little more broken down.

"There's something up with him."

Bob assumed that he wasn't supposed to be privy to this conversation. He had snuck back to his bunk to try and sleep off the exhaustion from tour and a few hours spent in the demon's company. It wasn't much more than teasing and mocking, but the mental head games were exhausting. The tour was winding down and Bob was relieved that the Madison Square Garden show was soon. It marked the end of the hectic schedule of touring and made Bob could figure out what exactly the demon's angle was.

"What do you mean?" Bob heard Brian ask. There was a familiar clicking of buttons as Brian was on his phone.

"He just seems off. More so than he's always been. He's skinnier now than he ever has been. He looks beat up," Mikey said.

Brian made an inquiring noise.

"I've seen it before."

"What are you getting at Mikey? Are you saying Bryar's using?" Brian asked setting aside his phone. Bob heard it click on the tabletop. The subject of addiction was still touchy amongst them all. Brian was clean and dry for now, but they all knew it wasn't a subject to take lightly with the present company.

"No. It just reminds me of someone," Mikey said softly and Bob heard the click of keys again.

Bob shut his eyes and wanted to tell Mikey and Brian that he wasn't using but being used.

He wondered if it would make a difference.

*-*

"So, your friends are worried about you," Patrick said bumping his shoulder against Bob's as they sat on the balcony of their shared apartment. 

Bob angled his head toward Patrick and sipped at his can of Red Bull. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Listen, you want to talk about it?" Patrick asked slanting a look at him.

Bob had enjoyed living with Patrick during the recording and had led to them hanging out even after his claim on the apartment ended. L.A. was comfortable in the way that Bob knew he was just visiting. The rest of his band was off getting married and doing other things and Bob was relieved that it seemed that when he was far from them the demon pretty much left them be. He'd only come because of some announcement Gerard and Lyn had for the band. He was figuring it had to do with Lyn and the baby on the way they weren't so good at hiding.

"Not really." Bob sat back looking at the sky and grimaced at the pale grayish cast to it.

Patrick picked at the edges of his water bottle then clapped a hand on Bob's shoulder. "Pete's meeting us over at Gerard and Lyn's place. Want me to drive?"

Bob looked surprise at that. "What aren't you telling me, Patrick?"

Patrick just pushed his hat back down further and tugged Bob up. "Nothing. Well, nothing yet. Come on. If we don't get there fast enough, Gerard might decide to cook."

Bob had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he knew what this meeting was about.

Patrick pushed him down onto the couch and Bob looked around at the people in the room. His band, Brian, and Pete Wentz were standing and sitting around looking at him. Pete winced looking at Bob and then away. "I don't want to do this, Trick."

Patrick lifted his hand to try and touch Pete's arm, but it fell away before it made contact. "I know you don't. But you have to. You know you do."

Bob wanted to stand up, but the rest of the guys were just looking at him. 

"We're not putting much credence into what Wentz has been saying, but Patrick is backing him up. And if he's not fucking with us then," Ray waved a hand and then pushed it through his hair. "Okay. It's fucking weird as hell, but we agreed to listen to what you have to say."

Bob looked at Patrick and Pete then back to the band. "Listen to me say what?"

"Explain to them why you disappear for hours or days at a time. Why do you look like shit, like you're broken every time you come back. Tell them why your body is witness to demon marks." Pete wrapped his arms around himself. The ink standing out in sharp relief against his skin. His voice was moving at a fast clip and when he laughed it wasn't the braying thing that Bob had often heard but something more fragile. "Tell them why you can feel the ache of its claws and teeth in your nightmares and it feels like it's never going to get better. How you feel trapped. How you want to forget but you can't ever do that. How you want to tell them, but know they'll think you're crazy."

Bob stared at Pete as if seeing him for the first time. He knew his mouth was open. "Fuck."

Pete laughed again, even more hysterical than the first. "Did you know once you're touched by a demon that you can see others who've been touched by them? That you'll always bear the marks and that no matter what you do, you'll never forget?" He looked around the room. "Once you've been made aware of the marks that people can see yours?"

Patrick tried to grab Pete's arm but Pete shook it off. "I can see them, Bob," Pete said looking him up and down.

Bob finally focused on what was beyond the swirls of ink and he ground his teeth. He saw the lash marks on Pete's arms and the way of raked furrows along the back of his hands. "Jesus," Bob whispered. 

"Take off your shirt," Pete said in a low voice.

Bob wanted to protest but Pete was pulling off his own shirt. Bob saw the mess of black swirls and color first then he saw the x of whip marks and the gouges from teeth that lay darker in Pete's skin. Bob swallowed down the sympathy and tried not to feel but he couldn't stop himself. He distantly heard the rest of the people in the room gasping at seeing Pete's body. Bob pulled off his hoodie and then his shirt. He even pulled off the wrist braces.

He knew where his marks were. He was sure that Pete knew where his own were as well. Bob knew there were knots of scars along his shins where bones had broken through the skin. There were whip marks from the barbed weapon on his back. There were scarred burnt scores along the outsides of his arms. There were imprints of the edges of weights on his chest from being crushed. The list went on and on and Bob felt the ghost pain of each of them.

Someone in the room was gagging at seeing him.

There was a hand touching him and Bob looked up to see Brian. His face was a mask of pain and anger. "What the fuck happened?"

Pete's laugh echoed the one in his head. "The noble virtuous man sacrifices self for those in his care."

Bob turned his head and nodded slightly. "Happiness."

Pete sat down with his shirt wadded in his hands. "Man, we're a fucked up pair. So, did they get you with the whole gaining your true love or something else?"

"Happiness. I paid for my happiness," Bob said looking at Brian. "It threatened you guys so...I kept paying."

"What do you mean he threatened us?" Frank asked.

Bob looked around noting how dusk had settled, the sun disappearing behind the hills. "Shit." He whispered the room was darkening quickly and he heard Pete whimper somewhere behind him.

"Fuck, fuck no. I can't do this again," Pete said and Patrick held his hand. "It's not after you this time. We have to help Bob, Pete. Think okay. It's not going to be the same thing this time. It's not."

"You have to figure it out Bob. What did it promise you and what'd you end up paying out?" Pete said looking at him and Bob shook his head trying to get the shadows to dissipate. 

The rest of the guys tried to huddle around him, but it was as if he and Brian were set apart from that. 

"Ugh, what drivel," it said and stepped out into the center of the room.

Bob tried to put Brian behind him. "Let them go."

The demon smiled and smoothed out her skirt. Bob realized that it was the same outfit and face he'd first encountered all those years ago at that party. 

"Get it to show you your contract. They have to," Pete said.

"Silence," she said leveling a look at Pete. "This is not your concern mortal. You've had your time with one of my brethren. Do you want to become beholden to me?"

Pete paled and Patrick glared at the demon. "Fuck off. You know that's not how it works. He did his time. He outsmarted one of yours. You leave him the fuck alone."

She rolled her eyes, but Bob read something there. Something made it uncomfortable. 

"I want to see my contract."

"Bunch of nonsense. I suppose the next thing you'll want is a tally of your payments," she laughed but there was a quick look over her shoulder into the crowding darkness.

"Yeah. That too," Bob said watching the contract scroll unfurl then another parchment of his payments. He winced looking at the reason column. He watched as the others read down the list. He didn't want to look at his friends and their responses. The noises were enough.

"Well, does it meet your approval?" She asked reaching for the parchments and Bob shook his head. 

"Not yet. Wait. Why is that different?" Bob asked looking down at the signature line. There were two distinct drops of blood, but they looked different. 

Her eyes slid away and she shrugged. "It's blood. It's an entity of its own." She looked behind her again and swore.

There was a crack of sound and the entire room shook. Bob grabbed onto Brian and held on. He glanced back at the band and noticed they were holding on to each other and looking at the ever widening crack in the air. Someone stepped out with a bare pointed foot. "You are being naughty."

Bob watched as a young woman stepped through. She smoothed her hands down the length of her simple sundress. She looked like the front of a laundry detergent advertisement. She ran her fingers through her long golden hair and gave Bob a slight smile. He was taken aback at the black of them. Her eyes matched of the demon's. 

"Mother," the demon said petulantly.

"I would rather forget that at the moment," the woman said. "Apate you know the rules." She turned and gave Bob's contract a cursory look and then of the tally. "Be silent, child." She snapped her fingers and Bob watched as Apate froze. "I apologize for the annoyance my daughter has caused." 

"Annoyance?" Bob asked.

She sat down on the edge of the couch and waved her hand at the contract. "This is not valid."

Bob felt as if someone had gutted him. "What do you mean?"

Mother sighed and looked over at her daughter with exasperation. "She has been rather naughty in that she's collecting souls without the correct requirements in place. She's always been such a precocious thing, but really this is beyond that." She laughed softly and shook her head as if Apate had accidentally tracked mud into the house.

"You mean, Bob was fucking tortured for no reason?" Brian asked shoving Bob aside then he shoved a finger in Bob's face. "We're going to fucking talk about personal responsibility and being a fucking martyr when this shit is over, but for now." He turned back to Mother and glared. "Your daughter is a fucking psychopath."

Mother tittered and she waved a hand at Brian. "We're demons, mortal boy. Of course we are. We birth disease and strife. We want the ruin of your kind and to eat your souls."

Brian blanched at that but kept on. "You can't have Bob's soul."

"Well, no cause for that. He's been giving it to my daughter piece by piece over the years. All for you and your happiness. All of your happiness it looks," she said looking at all the members with a slightly chastising tone. "Shame on you."

"We didn't ask for him to do that," Gerard whispered.

Mother arched an eyebrow in Bob's direction. "You didn't need to. My daughter is very good at twisting words and situations so that your friend no doubt thought he had no choice other than to sacrifice himself for your benefit."

"So, you made us addicts?" Mikey asked and then glanced at Bob. "And Bob saved us?"

"Oh no, dear boy. You were addicts in your own right. I'm sure my lovely offspring just presented opportunities to tempt you then made your friend think that in the future you would die or some such if he didn't step in. Quite a bit of a savior complex he's got." She licked her lips and smirked and the expression was so similar to Bob of Apate's that he winced. "Your souls always do taste the sweetest."

"But you can't have him. Why?"

"Clerical error," she said pointing down to the signature line. "That is not your blood."

"It is," Bob said his head spinning. "It is mine."

"Not only yours," she said and looked over with a shake of her head. "Always so eager. Always too hurried. It is yours and someone else's. Thus the contract is invalid. Unless the other person would comply?" She asked looking over at Brian. "I believe it's yours."  
  
Brian looked over at Bob and Bob wiped a hand over his face. "It was when that thing went into your chest. I was holding your chest closed and then. Then she took me and cut my hand open and."

Brian shook his head at Mother. "No way."

"Pity," she snapped her fingers and the paper incinerated. She tucked the ashes into a vial and handed it to Bob. "Don't worry we've another copy down there. Still void of course."

Bob took the little glass bottle and licked his lips. "So, that's it? I'm free?"

"Well," Mother drawled. "There's the bit of you that my daughter has. It enables her to bother you for the rest of your life." She tucked a length of hair behind her ear. "I imagine that you'd want that back."

"You mean from the first deal?" Bob rubbed his hand over his arm. It was the only scar that he held from Apate that was present in Hell and not.

"Yes," Mother reached over and lifted the chain from around Apate's neck and held it out to Bob. "I'll take a small bit of payment for this."

Bob looked over at Apate and then her mother. "I don't think I can do it again."

Mother rolled her eyes when Brian opened his mouth. "Oh don't offer yourself. It's not to do with you. I don't want time with you snivelling and pissing yourself in my courtyard or my throne room." She swung the chain on a finger. "I simply want you to sacrifice a bit of happiness. The universe likes to be even. My daughter fails to remember that. Without day there is no night. Balance. Et cetera."

Bob looked around at his friends and then Brian. "Only if you agree to leave my friends alone. None of your family bothers them or their kids or family."

Mother smiled slowly and her teeth gleamed in the dim light. "Ahh, still so noble. Till the end. So be it. So shall it be." She cocked her head to the side and shook back her hair. The chain looped itself around Bob's hand. "You heroes will always confuse me. Such sacrifice. And for what? Glory? Fame?"

Bob looked over at Brian who began to fade into the shadows taking the rest of his friends back to the real world. He watched them come aware in Gerard's living room and search for him. Pete was shaking on the end of the couch and Brian was tearing the room apart looking for him. Mikey had Frank around the waist as he flipped out and Ray looked like he were trying to breathe normally. He watched Lyn run into the room, belly just slightly rounded with the baby. "I don't want any of that."

"Then what did you want?"

"Just to belong," Bob said with a faint smile. "I'm ready."

Mother snapped her fingers and Bob heard her sigh. "Heroes."

*-*

Bob opened his eyes and he listened to the water lap at the shore outside his bungalow. The ceiling fan moved in a lazy circle above his head. The dogs snuffled down on the floor near his bed. The night was warm and he could hear the distant call of birds. There was no silence here.

He closed his eyes and knew what had come to pass.

He parted ways with the band. His wrists twinged as a warning and he uncurled his fingers from under his pillow and he stacked them on top of his chest looking up at the ceiling still. He'd given up drumming to ensure that he was no longer beholden to any demon. The necklace sat in box in his dresser. It was a dusty gray pearl of nothing now, but Bob kept it just in case.

He kept in contact with the guys, exchanged emails and texts, but it wasn't the same. He thought maybe that was good. He didn't want to think of his sacrifices going unnoticed, but he had no one to blame. He only gave up what he was willing to sacrifice. The demon mother had only asked for a small bit of happiness.

Bob turned his head and smiled at the shadow in the doorway. "Bad dream?"

Brian lifted a shoulder and shoved Bob over. "Something like that. You were mumbling in your sleep about capers."

"Weird," Bob said looping an arm around Brian's waist and biting the back of his neck.

"You regret it?" Brian asked after a length of quiet that Bob thought meant Brian had fallen asleep. 

There had been an almighty knock down drag out fight when Brian had finally tracked him down. They still had bouts of Bob being resolute in his decision and Brian not understanding. Brian finally got Bob to admit that he was a moron for not telling anyone and Bob got Brian to admit that they would have put him in the looney bin had he told them. They'd reached an impasse. 

It didn't stop them from falling back into bed and into a relationship.

Bob had relented when Brian suggested moving to the bungalow where the weather was easier on Bob's joints and old wounds. Brian just made himself at home and Bob realized that they were carving out a life for themselves. He realized he was okay with it.

"So, do you?"

Bob shook his head then nodded. "Some days I miss it. I miss it but this is for the best."

"What you think is best," Brian countered.

Bob shrugged and Brian let it lie.

Bob didn't have it in him to argue. He supposed the ache of loss would still be there, but it was for the best. He knew it somehow.

He believed it.

He had to.

He didn't shut his eyes till the sky started to turn purple then orange. The sun lighting the sky and warming the day.

 

 

 

the end


End file.
